


Respect

by CharmsDealer



Series: Female Vessel - Alt Season 4 [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Canon, Castiel in Alternate Vessels, Castiel in a Female Vessel, Dean POV, Episode: s04e02 Are You There God? It's Me Dean Winchester, F/M, Power Play, Sexism, little bit dark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-14
Updated: 2014-07-14
Packaged: 2018-02-08 20:07:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1954587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharmsDealer/pseuds/CharmsDealer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Continuing the idea of Castiel in a female vessel, this fic follows the scene where Castiel warns Dean that the rising of the witnesses was one of 66 seals.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Respect

**Author's Note:**

> Any and all mistakes are mine.

Bobby’s house was a mess. Specifically, more of a mess than it usually was. The combination of risen witnesses throwing furniture around and their own personal hurricane once the banishing spell started up had wreaked utter havoc in the main room. There were shards of broken glass everywhere and holy potpourri spilled over the floor, stinking up the joint with _opium_ and whatnot.

Well, Dean thought, rescuing a singed book from the now cold fireplace and placing it gingerly on Bobby’s desk, it wasn’t a party unless the place got a supernatural shakedown.

Everyone was rattled but they were determined not to show it. Another day another reminder that no matter how many people they saved their best just wasn’t good enough. So many people had died because of their mistakes and it turned out the dead did have hard feelings. None of the ‘at least you tried’ forgiveness bull crap that got shown on TV.

They worked around each other silently, slowly putting the place to rights. In all the excitement Dean had put Castiel out of his mind, but now he was starting to wonder if he was ignoring the best resource they had.

When Bobby confirmed angels had the ability to snatch souls from Hell, Sam was gone. He’d started wriggling in his chair like an oversized puppy and shooting little glances at Dean that made his heart twist because Sam was directing _awe_ at him, but not the brotherly kind. It was like Dean was somehow holy by default because he’d been groped by an angel.

But the idea of God (and therefore all things angel)just didn’t sit right with him. He couldn’t get excited about a guy who stood by and let bad things happen to good people. If there was a god, how come he was letting monsters and demons roam fancy free?

Bobby gave them both a pile of reading material to sift through for information- everything had to be cross referenced to sort the truth from the fairy dust- but no sooner had they hit the books than the shit hit the fan and they ended up, once again, having to pick up the pieces.

Was that how it was going to work now? He could just ask for help and all the badness would go away? Somehow, he doubted that. He couldn’t let himself get swept away in Sam’s enthusiasm, as tempting as it was. If there indeed was a God, what was he doing up there? Laughing?

Dean had met some so called gods in his day but they were human-made; nature spirits that had high opinions of themselves because a few times a year someone killed a goat or a nubile young woman to appease them in return for tastier apples or mild weather during winter; that kind of shit.

The most worrying thing, however, was how he’d been singled out. It was obvious that angels didn’t pull this kind of stunt every day. There were tones of souls trapped in Hell far more deserving. Why him?

When he said as much to Sam, Sam went into a lecture about how of course Dean deserved to be saved, how could he think that? But Sam didn’t know.

Sam was fast asleep on the couch with his face turned into the cushion, drooling slightly. Dean felt his chest clench a little when he looked at him. Stupid floppy hair all over his face.

He’d bullied Sam into taking the sofa because he’d been the one most physically banged up. Dean’s chest still had a phantom ache from when Victor stuck his hand in and started to yank but his ribs were still intact despite the strange pattern of bruising and that meant he was _fine,_ Sammy, _don’t worry about it_. They were both exhausted from pouring over different versions of Revelations for some sign that Bobby was wrong about it being the apocalypse but so far, all the signs were pointing to the end of days.

Dean thought he heard a sound, almost like curtains flapping, but the air was hot and still. Therefore, something wasn’t right. He propped himself up on his elbow carefully and looked over his shoulder. Well. It appeared that they had a nighttime visitor.

He slipped out from under his thin blanket quietly so as not to wake Sam. Dean wasn’t ready for him to start freaking out about an angel in the kitchen, as amusing as that would be.

As Dean approached, Castiel lifted her chin and leaned back against the sink with a satisfied air. He fought not to roll his eyes. She looked awfully smug for someone who had no idea what was going on. He supposed he’d have to break the news to her gently.

Standing in Bobby’s shabby kitchenette Castiel appeared less intimidating than Dean remembered; smaller, somehow. She just looked like a regular woman. Perhaps a bit tired around the eyes, but attractive in a soccer-mom kind of way. He wouldn’t pick her up in a bar but he’d flirt with her at a birthday party. Demons tended to hold themselves in angles, playing up the sex appeal with a cocked hip or slanted look. He should have guessed that an angel would hold herself with a bit more dignity. 

“So, you’re really an angel of the lord?” he asked, keeping his voice low. He wasn’t going to bother asking how Castiel had found Bobby’s place. All sorts of crap turned up despite the wards; such as angry revenge-ghosts.

Castiel’s lips quirked in a contented way and she said simply, “Yes.”

“Then, your boss; what about him?”

“He exists.” She said it so simply but there was a well of conviction behind the words. He almost envied her.

“Say I believe you,” Dean let his gaze dip down to her lips and then back up to her eyes, purely on reflex and not because he was interested in confirming that her upper lip was slightly fuller than the lower one. After all, the body that Castiel was riding wasn’t exactly hers. There was a girl in there somewhere. Screaming.

_Meg Masters._

“What happens now?”

“Now, I commend you,”

“I haven’t really done anything that would warrant angelic commendation lately,” Dean said gruffly.

“You did an excellent job with the witnesses.”

Dean had spent the whole day trying to convince himself that angels were not the worst thing that could happen to him, and maybe he should let someone else take over for a while. Castiel’s words got him like a slap across the face and he choked on the sudden shock of betrayal.

“…You knew about the witnesses?”

“I was made aware,” Castiel replied pleasantly, oblivious that the tone of their conversation had changed.

Dean remembered just in time not to raise his voice, but it was hard. “You mean to tell me that people were being torn to shreds down here and you and your angel gal-pals didn’t lift a finger? I almost got my _heart_ ripped out of my _chest_!”

Castiel frowned slightly. “But you didn’t.”

Dean laughed without humor.

“I don’t understand; you stopped the witnesses. What is the problem?”

“The _problem_? I thought angels were supposed to be guardians. Fluffy wings, halos, little white dress.” He reached across the short distance and pinched the collar of Castiel’s blouse between his finger and thumb, giving it a contemptuous little tug. Her nostrils flared.

He crowded Castiel against the sink, leaning over so that she had to tilt her head back and up, exposing the column of her throat. “You know what I think now?” Dean asked, his voice settling low and smoky between them, a mockery of intimacy, “I think you’re kind of a _bitch_.”

“Read the bible,” Castiel said. The small hairs at the back of Dean’s neck began to prickle. “Angels are warriors of God. _I’m a soldier_.”

“Then why don’t you fight?” Dean demanded, searching her face. It could have been carved out of stone for all the compassion he found there.

“I’m not here to perch on your shoulder.”

“Yeah,” Dean breathed, “I think I’m beginning to see that.” The kitchen was filled with something heavy and suffocating.

“Do you think,” Castiel said, “That the armies of heaven should just _follow you around_? There’s a bigger picture here.

“The raising of the witnesses is one of sixty six seals. If all of the seals are broken _Lucifer_ will walk free. That is what we are dealing with, that is why you must do your part to hold the line.”

“Then Bobby was right. This is really the apocalypse,”

“Unfortunately,” Castiel sighed. The overbearing presence abated somewhat. “Why do you think,” she continued, “Angels are walking among you now for the first time in two thousand years? It’s why we’ve returned.” She walked to the other end of the room, touching things as she went as though she were examining the different textures.

“Bang up job so far,” Dean muttered.

“There are other battles, other seals. Some we’ll win, some we’ll lose… This one we lost.”

Dean huffed. “I’m not sure you can afford to lose, angel cakes. Sixty-six is not that big of a number. I don’t know what you guys think you’re doing up _there_ ,” he jabbed his finger at the ceiling, “But we could have used your help today, down _here_.”

Castiel’s head whipped around. Dean swallowed thickly.

“Our numbers are not unlimited.” Dean was forced to move back as she prowled forward. “Six of my siblings _died_ in the field this week.”

Castiel leaned very close to him. He thought he could smell a faint trace of her perfume, something sweet. Her warm breath on his cheek made him shiver. “You should show me some respect.”

Suddenly, Castiel was just some chick getting up in his space thinking she had every right to be there because she could bat her eyes and shake her ass so that made her something special. He curled his lip in disgust. He was going to say as much, but Castiel cocked her head.

“I think you’re forgetting something, Dean.”

“Enlighten me.”

“I dragged you out of Hell,” Castiel said, her voice whisper-dark, and Dean’s blood ran cold. Sweat trickled down his back to pool in the dip of his spine and his heart began to race a mile a minute. “What makes you think that I can’t _throw you back in_?”

He dropped his gaze for a split second but when he looked up Castiel was gone. Dean was left standing alone in the middle of the kitchen, bare foot and stinking of fear.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this to explore the possible power play between the two characters that might occur if Cas was presented as female, but passed through the filter of the show's general flavor toward womankind. I went back and watched the episode, and it did involve Dean being cowed by Cas. In this, Dean is on the offensive but backs of when Cas gives as good as she gets. If that's not how it came out, feel free to discuss!
> 
> It's just an interpretation, but it came of as a little more intense than I thought it would? It's weird to write but interesting to explore. Maybe OTT? I want to be able to change Dean's opinions this way and that over the course of the series. In the beginning, there was a lot of vitriol...


End file.
